from way up there, you and i
by jonimitchell
Summary: "We're finally getting our baby, Finn." Future.


Rachel is meticulous in everything she does. She makes schedules, writes events in her planner months in advance, and ensures that every pastry she bakes follows the directions exactly, and if not, she frets and frets and frets about it until he assures her that there really is no obvious difference between _two_ cups of flour and two cups and a _teaspoon_ of flour. _Cookies are cookies_, he tells her with a sloppy kiss pressed against her cheek.

But she's most meticulous when she cleans. Every Saturday morning, she wakes up and cleans the apartment, and after a few weeks, he wakes up, too, because she deserves his help. Plus, she does all these little dance moves and sings really loudly and it's just more time he gets to spend with her, really.

Being married is awesome, especially compared to where they were in high school and college, especially. He'll take being married to her over anything. And, okay, they still fight and stuff but overall, he just likes it.

Currently, Rachel is scrubbing the bathtub so meticulously her fingers are rubbed raw, and he's a little concerned.

"Baby, let's take a break," he suggests, tossing his dust rag over his shoulder.

She turns and glares at him, and continues scrubbing. "I'm not stopping until this apartment looks perfect, Finn. _Perfect_."

"It already does, Rachel," he says, stepping forward to sit beside her in the bathtub. They're lucky to have this nice of an apartment and be able to afford it, but his job teaching at a preparatory school in Manhattan pays extraordinarily well, plus, Rachel's been on Broadway since she was twenty, and they're twenty-eight, now, and they're good. Comfortable. They moved in as a celebratory gift to Rachel after she won her third Tony Award, and as sad as she was to pack up their little shoebox apartment, she was all the more excited to move into their new, bigger apartment.

She leans against his side in the empty bathtub, toes pressing against the other side of the tub. "I just want everything to finally work out."

He sighs and curls his arm around her shoulders, feels her relax beneath him, and they're silent for a moment. They do this a lot; sit in silence, their thoughts separate but their limbs intertwined. After a moment, he murmurs, "I do, too. Want things to work out, I mean. And they will."

"Then let's go out for a little. We could use the fresh air."

* * *

"I'm nervous," she confesses, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. It's cold today, chill and wintery, and the wind just cuts right through the buildings and he's glad Rachel forced him to wrap a scarf around his neck.

"Me, too." He pauses for a moment and looks down at her, smiles at her cold-bitten pink cheeks and red hat pulled over her ears, hands encased in mittens. "But it's like—it's good nervous. Like, when I proposed, or—or getting married."

Rachel purses her lips and doesn't answer him, but her brow isn't furrowed like it usually is and she isn't frowning, or like, crying, so he must not have said anything _wrong_. "I suppose you're right," she says, finally, "in a way."

"It' really, um—serious, though. Life changing."

He can tell he's worrying her and he _hates_ that, hates that he still says the wrong thing even after loving her for thirteen years. He still fucks up sometimes.

"I'll always have you, though, won't I?"

He's not so into making promises, because he knows eventually, all their promises get broken, but he knows he'll always love her, so he agrees, "'Course you will, baby girl. You're everything."

She smiles to herself, and he imagines her tucking that into this part of her brain where she puts nice things people say to her. Suddenly, though, she turns to him and stops walking, tugs a little at his hands. "You'll always have me, too, you know?"

He does.

Rachel likes getting into bed before midnight, but on some nights, when they watch movies curled up on the couch, she'll fall asleep there, long past midnight, with her fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, and he'll have to carry her into bed. She likes to pretend she can't fall asleep without him, but he knows that's a lie, because many times when he has a late meeting at the school or parents night runs long or even when he's out with some friends, he's found her curled either on the couch or bed, fast asleep without him. Regardless, she tells him she feels better when he's there beside her and he agrees, prefers to have her close to him, linked either by their hands or feet or mouths.

But it's long past midnight when they crawl into bed, tired from rigorous cleaning and organizing and researching (still). He's cooked dinner and washed the dishes and gone grocery shopping and headed back and forth between the apartment and the convenience store maybe a hundred times but he likes to do those things for her—he loves that she _needs_ him, that she wants him, and he needs her, wants her, too.

Honestly, he feels like all of this stuff is fault, as much as Rachel may tell him otherwise. It's just—how can it _not_ be his fault, his problem? He's the guy, after all, the husband, and he knows it's a two-way street but reading all these pamphlets and books and stuff, well. It feels awfully like a one-way street.

"I love you," Rachel mumbles, face pressed into his chest. They always fall asleep like this, but more often than not, wind up on their separate sides of the bed, and she's often curled up in the entire comforter, not that _she_ minds, of course.

"Love you back."

When you're a kid you don't foresee this kinda stuff, the simple, pleasant domesticities; you don't think about dressing in clothes your wife likes or even if she wants you to shave or not because it changes every single day. But moreover you don't foresee the tragedies they don't teach you about in school, like when you're told that you and your wife can't conceive naturally.

And, okay, there's like, a one in a million chance they can, but he's not about to waste his life away hoping for that chance. Rachel was devastated, of course, having spent all her twenty-six years of life wishing and hoping and dreaming for little mini versions of herself. But like the NYADA debacle their senior year, when Rachel wants her way, she is _going_ to get it, and god knows she tried her hardest to conceive, but when she wanted to go on all these hormones, he stopped her, sat her down, and they talked about their _options_, and decided that adoption was their best option, and after applying _months_ ago, they're finally getting their interview—well, Rachel says it's actually called a home study, but still. It kills him, that he can't give her exactly what she wants, but what she wants, now, is to adopt a baby. They've done so much research, looked into so many organizations and methods and they're finally on their way to being approved as parents.

And if there's anyone who deserves it the most, it's Rachel.

* * *

Rachel straightens their wedding picture for maybe the thousandth time, fingers shaking all the while. He grabs her hand, laces their fingers and just shakes his head a little. She's _so_ nervous, and he is too, and he hypothesizes that it's because of the tether, but he knows if he tells Rachel that, she'll just elbow him in the stomach and roll her eyes at him.

"You look lovely," he tells her, bringing her fingers to his mouth. "Really beautiful, Rachel."

She glances at him and shrugs. "_You_ could look better."

He squints at her, catches the playful lilt of her lips and laughs, and she joins right in with him. "Come here."

"Finn, the agent could be here any—"

"Come _here_." She sighs and steps into his open arms, stretches on her toes to kiss him.

There's a knock at the door and Rachel freezes. Like, completely frozen, and she doesn't even say anything just lowers back onto her heels and stares at him, dark eyes wide and a little terrified. _She's_ supposed to be the strong one, here, he's always the one who freaks out and, like, gets emotional in public and stuff, but he supposes he has to step up now, for her, for them—for their future.

He answers the door after taking a deep breath, smiles charmingly at the woman in a grey blazer and black trousers, and just as she's saying _hello_, Rachel slips under his arm, wrapping her arm around his waist.

"You must be Mr. and Mrs. Hudson," the woman greets, smiling pleasantly, "I'm Jennifer Schmidt. It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too," Finn responds, sticking his hand out to shake hers. Rachel pinches his back, which he takes as her being excited that this woman seems receptive to them, and doesn't even flinch at the feel of her fingers pulling at his skin.

Rachel pushes the door open wider, and so their home study begins.

* * *

"And what type of adoption are you interested in?"

Rachel squeezes his knee, meets his gaze from the corner of her eye, urging him to answer. "Well, primarily, domestic infant adoption."

She nods, scribbles some more notes on her notepad and looks up. "Are you interested in an ongoing relationship with the birth parents?"

"Yes," Rachel answers quickly. At the questioning quirk in Jennifer's brow, she continues, "My fathers had me with a surrogate, and my relationship with my birth mother was nonexistent until I was sixteen. If the birth parents are interested in the child, then we're more than willing to carry on a relationship with them."

Finn nods along as she talks, presses his hand over hers atop his knee. It feels like they're actually making an impression, like maybe everything's actually coming together for once.

* * *

"We did it, baby," Rachel murmurs later, hours after they've shown Jennifer out and gone for a celebratory dinner at Sardi's. She's between his legs in the bath, submersed in the warm water and bubbles, her head leaning back against his shoulder while his fingers run lightly over her skin.

"Yeah, we did," he responds, and he doesn't want to think about the possibility of _not_ getting approved, because Rachel's teaching him every single day that he should dream more, be a little more optimistic and push down those realist tendencies, and it's starting to work, but he can't help but be a little doubtful. For some reason, whenever things seem to be going _right_ with them, they always shoot downhill.

She wiggles so she's in his lap, her arm slips around his shoulders and toys with the hair at the base of his neck, and he turns his head and kisses her, because that's what she wants, and if there's one thing he's learned after being with her for so long is that he'll do anything to give her what she wants.

He brushes his tongue against hers, feels himself hard for her, and she feels it too, pulls away from his mouth to unplug the bath before returning to her spot, presses kisses on his mouth, his cheeks, then against his earlobe, whispers, "Take me to bed, Finn."

And he does.

* * *

The phone call comes on their anniversary, just two weeks before Rachel's birthday. She's not home, working, and he's kinda lonely. It's just a Wednesday, and usually, he'd be working, but there's only two days left of school this week and he's showing a movie in class. Plus, he and Rachel had originally planned to spend the afternoon and evening together, celebrating six years of marriage, but she'd gotten a call from her understudy who'd gotten sick, and well, she'd had to go in.

He isn't mad at her, of course, just circumstance. He's glad the show only has a Wednesday matinee, because it means Rachel will be home before eight, sometimes, even around seven, so he has high hopes.

The phone rings just as he's putting Rachel's favorite meal in the oven, and he rushes to grab it, a little breathless when he answers, and he nearly faints when he hears they've been approved for adoption _approved_ and when Rachel comes home he scoops her into his arms and spins her around and she cries when he tells her the news, good news, and she kisses him hard, her eyelashes wet, and she buries her head in the crook of his neck when they pull away, and whispers, "We're _finally_ getting our baby, Finn."

Later, she lays atop his chest, and he strokes her hair, and she's quiet, but smiling.

"Are you happy?" He asks softly, brushing his thumb across her forehead, smoothing over her brow, which he's seen furrowed with worry too many times in the past two years.

"I'm always happy when I have you," she answers, leaning forward to kiss him chastely.

He gives her this look, like he knows she's not being completely truthful, because he_ knows_ he makes her happy, but she's been sad more than he's ever really seen her. Or, well, a different kind of sad. "Yeah?"

"But, Finn…the thought of putting all this love I have for you," she grabs his hand, presses it over her heart, and covers his heart with her hand, "and the love you have for me…the thought of that flourishing and spreading to a baby—_our_ baby—it's just…"

"Incredible," he finishes, feeling her heart thrumming and he knows his is following her rhythm, bouncing and dancing and singing in his chest. "You really are my sunshine, you know?"

She tucks her head under his chest, still largely on top of him, and shuts her eyes. "You're mine."

* * *

Okay, but just because they're _approved_ for adoption doesn't mean any mothers necessarily want to give them their babies. And, cool, okay, fine, whatever, but they're crazy if they think Rachel Hudson (nee Berry) would be anything _other_ than an incredible mother. He might be a little rocky at first, but he really loves _Rachel_ and he thinks that's a good start to loving a baby. Because, okay, he wasn't _that_ spectacular at school, but he's damn good at teaching those first graders, and he's managed to keep in touch with most of his high school and college friends, so that must mean he's really good at, like, caring about people and stuff. And Rachel, too, of course.

"Finn, there's something I want to talk to you about," Rachel begins, folding her hands atop the kitchen table.

He glances up at her from his plate, some vegan dish Rachel requested. "Yeah?"

"I think that—that once my run in the show ends I should, um, take some time off?"

"Why?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," she chastises, and he rolls his eyes in response. "Finn, if we're going to have a baby in our home, I want to be there."

He blinks. "Well, Rach, if that's what you want, of course I'm going to support that. So long as you don't think you're putting your dreams on hold for me, or anything."

"Part of a healthy marriage is compromise," she says, voice prim and matter-of-fact.

"Not compromising your dreams."

With a soft sigh, she gets out of her seat and perches on his thigh, slipping one arm around his shoulders and rests her free hand on his face. "Listen, Finn. I've had my dream for the past eight years, almost nine. Broadway will _always_ be there. But now, now I have a new dream, and that dream is you, and me, and a little baby. Okay?"

He nods, and his mouth doesn't taste so sour, now. She kisses his cheek and hops off his lap.

"Can you wash the dishes for me?" He's about to complain, because he made dinner, after all, but she pushes out her bottom lip in this pout she _knows_ he can't resist, and he nods. "You're the best."

"Yeah, I know," he responds, and she smacks another kiss on his cheek and flounces out of the kitchen.

He isn't so sure what she's doing, but he guesses she'll probably run a bath for herself. Luckily, he and Rachel aren't that messy of eaters so the dishes shouldn't take _too_ long, and he figures the time will go faster if he turns on the radio.

The phone rings when he's up to his elbows in suds, and he guesses it's probably her dads, because they're flying in for the holidays soon, or maybe his mom or Kurt. It could be anyone, really.

"Rach!" He yells. "Baby, get the phone!"

He hears movement and the ringing stops. He turns down the radio to better eavesdrop and barely catches strains of the conversation. Resigned, he turns back to his duty, pleased to see that he's washing his last dish.

"Finn?" Her voice is small, soft, quiet, usually, she's so bright and loud that he's immediately concerned.

"Yeah?" He turns and stares at her, hair piled atop her head, wet at the base of her neck, towel wrapped around her body, bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

"We—um," she takes a deep breath, and her eyes well with tears, "they're interested, Finn—someone's interested."

He thinks that if it were anyone else speaking in such a stuttered, fragmented manner, he wouldn't understand, but he does, he understands her, and he doesn't know whether he should faint or if he should yell his joy from the top of his lungs. He settles, instead, for wrapping her in his arms, feeling her curve her body against his.

"We're gonna be parents," she murmurs, and for once, the realist inside of him that's so likely to say _not quite, baby girl_ gets lost in his mind, buried in this newfound reality.

* * *

The mother, she's like…really young. Rachel tells him she's fifteen, and he remembers dating _Quinn_ when she was fifteen and pregnant and it felt so much older than it seemed and his heart just kind of aches for this girl, this _child_ faced so soon with so much responsibility.

She's from Brooklyn, the girl, her name's Christine, and Rachel's knee bounces the entire drive to the adoption agency, where they'll meet her for the first time. Rachel's received some information on her, like her name and age, but he's looking forward to meeting her in person and stuff.

"Relax, baby girl," he murmurs, closing his fingers over her knee.

"I _can't_." Her smile is effervescent. "I'm too happy, too excited, too—too in love with _you_."

He laughs and kisses her temple. She leans against him and starts chattering a mile a minute, any of her nerves completely eradicated, even as they pull up to the agency and make their way to the seventh floor.

"I'm nervous," he tells her as the elevator dings past five and six.

"Really?"

"Yes." She unzips his winter coat and straightens the lapels of his suit coat and smiles up at him.

"Just be yourself, baby." She purses her lips and ruffles his hair. "So glad I convinced you to shave today."

He narrows his eyes a little at her, but the elevator doors are pushing open so he doesn't bother contesting and just holds her hand, fingers squeezing hers anxiously. He really likes this agency and knows Rachel does, too. She leads him down the hall like she's been coming here every single day for the past, like, _year_ that they've been researching.

"Have you told your dads yet?"

"No."

"Rachel, they're gonna be here, like, _tomorrow_."

"So I'll tell them, like, _tomorrow_. You haven't told your family, either, have you?" He shakes his head and she stills in front of a door. "Okay, Finn. This is it. Are you ready?"

He nods, and they push through the door. The girl—Christine—is seated on the couch beside Jennifer, a binder open on the table in front of them, opened to their page. Rachel tightens her grasp on his hand but breaks away to unbutton her coat and hang it on the coat hanger, and he pulls her hat off her head for her once he's hung his coat up, too.

"Hello again, Jennifer," she begins, "and you—you must be Christine."

"Hi," she says shyly.

"I'm Rachel and this is my husband, Finn."

_Obviously_.

They sit in the couch across from them as Jennifer begins going over some information in their case. Christine wants a semi-open adoption, the baby's father is not in her life nor will he ever be again, and she's just four months along, barely even showing.

After a while of talking about _them_, they finally get to ask about _her_. "Well, Christine, I guess I just want to know why do—why are you putting your baby up for adoption?"

He thinks that if anyone other than Rachel asked that, it'd be rude, but she's so earnest about it, leaning forward in her chair and smiling all encouragingly at her. Finn flattens his palm on her back, rubs it up and down soothingly.

"Well, I thought about keeping him or her, 'cause, y'know, I've seen_ Gilmore Girls_ but I…want her to have better than that, or than what I could provide for her. I just think it's best for her, for me, cause I wanna, like, go to college some day, get married and really _live_ and I can't do that if I have a baby this young." Her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I'm only a _sophomore_."

Rachel leans forward and pats her hand. "I wanna know why us," Finn blurts out in the lull.

"_Finn_!"

"What?"

Christine just laughs. "You two just seemed right, or something. Like you could be good parents and take care of her—love her like she deserves. Plus my mom and dad were high school sweethearts and I get it, and stuff." She glances down at her fingers clasped in her lap. "You two really love each other."

He glances at Rachel, her dark eyes trained on Christine and Jennifer, and _oh_, he does, really truly loves her. "We really do," he answers.

The meeting comes to a close and he nearly has to restrain Rachel when Christine confirms that she wants them to be her baby's adoptive parents. Honestly, he has to restrain _himself_ and uses Rachel to do so.

In just five months, he thinks, in just five months he'll have a baby.

* * *

It doesn't really bother him, the whole baby not looking like him thing, because that isn't what it's about, you know? Like, parenting shouldn't be determined by how much your kid looks like you. His kid's gonna be awesome no matter what, 'cause he's going to be raised by him and Rachel. And, okay, maybe it won't be a boy, but he just has a feeling. Rachel tells him it's a girl, must be, but he just ignores her, convinced it'll be a boy.

Not that he cares either way, you know?

Christine invites them to hear the baby's heartbeat and find out the gender at the very end of her fifth month of pregnancy. And hearing that heartbeat, the doctor's excited_ it's a girl_, makes this all the more real for him, like there's an almost-person in there and stuff, and in four (almost three) months she'll be out here in the world, breathing and living and crying and stuff and it'll be all up to him to make sure she grows into a good woman and Rachel's jumping up and down all cute with tears on her cheeks and Christine's laughing at her, so is the doctor, but this is the kinda girl he wants his baby to grow into, just like her mama, almost perfect.

They paint the nursery pink and Rachel rolls a stripe of pink down his chest after getting sick of his teasing, and he paints her, too, and they wind up with him on top of her on the floor, kissing, covered in pink paint.

In March, Kurt throws them a baby shower and Rachel cries and gives him the worst job, keeping track of gifts and givers for future thank you cards. They get lots of things they hadn't thought of buying and clothes and their baby—their little girl—will probably be spoiled rotten for the rest of her life.

April blooms and Rachel's run on stage comes to an end and she cries and cries onstage and he has to console her for the rest of the night (really, he just gives her lots of champagne and caresses her face). They stumble in late, fall asleep immediately, and wake up in the next afternoon, disoriented and a little bit hung over, and it's one of the last nights they'll ever get to do that, act like college kids and get drunk and it's nice, he thinks, growing up and all, with Rachel by his side.

She has a lot of baby name books with pink post its by her favorites that she reads in bed while he watches whatever game is on ESPN. But one night, she curls against him all shy and sweet and he mutes the television and gives her his full attention.

"I think I have a good name for her."

"Do you?"

"What do you think of Claire Carole Hudson?"

"Claire," he hums thoughtfully. "Pretty. What's it mean?"

She grins and straddles his waist. He puts his hands on her upper thighs, steadying her. "I want to spell it with an _I_, because it means _bright_ or _famous_. A star in her own right."

"I think it's perfect, baby girl."

"I do, too."

She bends and kisses him, pushes his hands up her shirt so they're over her breasts, and he sighs into her mouth, and in moments, he's pressing into her, his hips against hers, and it doesn't take too long before they both hit their peaks and curl beneath the covers together, her head on his arm. She presses her face into his chest, tells him she's _so, so happy_, and he reciprocates in the pattern he traces on her back.

* * *

The phone call comes late one night in May. Rachel's fast asleep, but he's still up, but barely, waiting to see the final seconds of the game, but the phone rings, distracting him, and his voice is hushed when he answers. It's Christine's mother, hurriedly explaining that it's time, the baby's coming, and he jerks Rachel awake, and she's still tired even when he tells her what's happening, though she does squeal excitedly.

It's finally happening, they're getting their baby, their little Claire is making her big debut. Rachel calls everyone in her address book, basically, even though it's getting late. They're waiting in the waiting room, Rachel's body literally on top of his on the small couch, and he's trying to sleep, but she's making that very difficult for him with her constant chattering.

"Finn, baby, don't you want to wait up for this?"

"No," he responds, tugging her down so she's nestled against his chest, "I wanna get my sleep before I never get any ever again."

He's just teasing, she knows, but she sticks her tongue out at him anyways. "I'm so excited, though," she says into his shirt.

Her excitement wanes, though, around three thirty in the afternoon, when she's running on maybe an hour of sleep and is the crankiest she's ever been. He takes her home, forces her to cuddle with him and fall asleep, and Christine's mom calls when she's dilated further, hours later, and they're refreshed, she's back to her excitable self, and they're ready to take their baby home.

* * *

She totally kicks ass. His baby, he means. Claire. She's like totally awesome. And, okay, she's got these big lungs and she can really wail, but otherwise, she's pretty chill. When she's hungry she just starts whining until he or Rachel feed her, and she only wails like that late at night, when she thinks no one loves her. Rachel tells him that theory is absolutely ridiculous, but he disagrees, so he always stands by her bassinet, just a few feet from their bed for the first month, and sings her a little lullaby he and Rachel agreed is to be _hers_.

Claire is perfect, with her little toes and little fingers, and his mom tells him to cherish her littleness while he can, because before he knows it, she'll be moving out. He doesn't wanna imagine that yet, though, and just concentrates on the little milestones, like when she manages to stick her feet in her mouth or when she laughs and claps her hands for the first times, when she crawls and lifts herself to standing and she's growing up so, so, fast—too fast.

He loves her, though, and Rachel is completely smitten with their little baby, always fussing over her, and Claire is going to be the most spoiled girl in New York City with the rate they're going at. Her first word is _mama_ much to his chagrin, but Rachel literally performs this silly victory dance that's so cute he can't help but laugh, and Claire laughs too, claps her hands and calls _mama _over and over again.

After Claire's first birthday celebration, with all their friends and family, when she's fast asleep in her crib, Finn tugs Rachel close.

"Hey, baby?"

'Yes, Finn?"

"Do you ever think miracles can happen?"

She blinks, and he thinks maybe her eyes are shining with tears. "Yeah, I do, I really, really do."

He wonders, then, before he slips into sleep, if someday he and Rachel will have a baby with their genes, though that doesn't really matter to him. They could adopt three babies or Rachel could carry three babies and he'd love them all the same, that deep kinda love that he has for Rachel and for Claire.

* * *

**a/n:** this randomly just came to me this afternoon. i did a fair bit of research on adoption, so hopefully all of that information is correct enough for it to be believable! as always, dedicated to my darling dearest rachel! thank you for reading!


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